


Dead Drunk

by Anime_Holmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fanfic, Gay, John - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sad, Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 13:19:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2430269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anime_Holmes/pseuds/Anime_Holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Sherlock and John go for a night of partying at a nearby bar. They get a little more drunk than they hope to, and John wakes up the next morning, but Sherlock doesn't. Two years later, John realizes his love for Sherlock, and has had enough of his misery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heart Attack

**Author's Note:**

> No, this is NOT fluff or anything. It's a really sad Johnlock. Thanks for reading, hope you like it enough to leave a kudos! Also, there are two chapters to it...

"Come John," Sherlock commanded his flatmate.  
"Where are we going?" John inquired as Sherlock hailed a cab.   
"I thought we'd go out for a few drinks. That a problem?" Sherlock explained this more than asked If John was actually okay with it. Of course he was. Sherlock already knew this.   
"Right...Fine," John half-heartedly agreed as they pulled up to the London Pint, a pretty well known bar. Sherlock raced in and, as usual, John was left to pay the cabbie. Following Sherlock through the large wooden doors, an immense yet calm room greeted him. As he took his seat, he intensely observed every corner of the bar. He was sure Sherlock slipped him into some bloody crime scene. Satisfied with his decision, he turned to the bar tender. "I'll take a pint please," he ordered as he handed over his card. "Want anything?" He gestured to his friend.   
"Hard apple cider. Biggest one you got," Sherlock ordered. John raised an eyebrow as a forty centimeter tall glass slid across the counter to Sherlock.   
"I never knew you drank," John noted, taking a sip of his beverage. Sherlock didn't seem like the drinking type.  
"I pick one up here and there," Sherlock confessed light-heartedly. He had said this four hours ago, and six downtown bars ago. At that point John was a little tipsy. Sherlock was...well...wasted. At one point, John thought he saw the bar tender slip something in Sherlock's drink, but forgot it and blamed the drinks.   
"I think we should get going," John checked his watch, "It's already one!" Lugging a very drunk Sherlock to the curb, they hailed a cab and rode to the flat. Herding Sherlock to his room, John changed into a robe and sat down on the couch to watch the tele. He couldn't sleep after the drinks. Sherlock, however, had fallen asleep as soon as his drunk head hit the pillow. The dim light of the tele and the hot cuppa in his hand eventually lulled John to sleep.  
"Sherlock can you turn that off?!" John whined. His uncomfortable nap on the sofa had been interrupted by Sherlock's six-thirty alarm clock. Since he received no response, John sauntered into Sherlock's room to turn off the alarm. "Sherlock," he shouted, "get up! Time for work." John left the room to put the kettle on. Maneuvering around Sherlock's invasive 'science experiments', he reached into the cupbard and retrieved the English breakfast tea. "Sherlock!" John screamed down the hall. John reluctantly set down his tea and made his way down the hall to wake Sherlock. Grabbing a fistfull of covers, he yanked them off to reveal a robe-clad ashen Sherlock. Taking his friend's hand in his, John searched for a pulse. There was none. Whipping out his phone, he dialed 9-9-9.   
"Please state your emergency," the operator requested.  
"I need paramedics over here right now! My friend doesn't have a pulse, but he's still warm, probably just lost it! 221 Baker street!" John was frantic. He hung up the phone and began CPR on Sherlock. Rhythmic chest pumps and breathing into Sherlock's lungs. About three minutes later, paramedics arrived. Mrs. Hudson leading the way, they rushed in. Muttering among themselves, they set to work. More CPR, more breathing. Sherlock was growing colder by the second. One woman shook her head.   
"Heart attack," she told John as they strapped Sherlock to a stretcher and wheeled him out to the ambulance. John accompanied them on the ride to the hospital. Poor Molly would have to deal with this. After all, it was her job to deal with dead people. About a week later, they held the funeral. A sleek, black gravestone was all that remained of Sherlock. Sherlock's death seemed to unlock a hidden part of John's heart. Over the course of a year, John studied it. Just as if Sherlock were studying a specimen underneath a microscope. Then John realized, he loved Sherlock. He supposed he knew all along. He just hid it away, kept it a secret. He knew that kind of love was...socially acceptable these days, but it still, scared him. It scared him even more that Sherlock could never know this. It wasn't going to be some happily-ever-after where Sherlock fakes his death and he's magically alive. It wasn't fucking like that.


	2. Drunk Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter to Dead Drunk. Hope you like it! Sorry it's short...

"Fuuuuuck," John thought. Two years ago, Sherlock died. One year ago, John had uncovered his feelings for him. Right now, John was drunk on six pints. He needed some fresh air. He slowly supported himself and rose from his chair. He staggered over to the coat rack and sloppily pulled it on. It was ten at night, but to hell with it. He didn't fucking care. He should have called a cab, but instead he decided to 'walk it off'. He wound up at the cemetery. Of course. This is where John wanted to be anyway. He wanted to be dead. Maybe if he was dead, he could see Sherlock again. Maybe if he was dead, he wouldn't have to keep up this damn act. Even though it was dark, he still found his way to the gravestone. Sitting down in front of it, he pulled out his gun. Of course he brought it. Just in case. But now it finally had a purpose. He cocked it, and brought the barrel to his head. Finally this would be over. He pulled the trigger. One bang, a pinch of pain, then darkness. John was floating in darkness. A few notes of Sherlock's violin drifted past him, as his last, rattling breath escaped his body.


End file.
